A Fireside Chat

Mouse stared glumly into her bowl of soup, scraping bits of mushy potato around in circles.

All of them sat around a crackling campfire. Night had fallen, and camp had been made in the shadow of a towering pine beside the road leading from Larkhen’s Hold. Wisps of mist licked the grass wet with dew. The young girl leaned over her lap, shoulders wilting, allowing breeze between her and Jackbee, who had been enjoying respite from a hard day’s travel, content to let Mouse use him for rest, and now snorted at the sudden chill.

“If your face falls any further it’ll soon float in your soup,” warned Daigay. “Burns prove troublesome to heal at the best of times.”

“You lied, Grandmama.”

“My tongue tells me the soup is still quite hot.”

“I mean about going home. This is not the road we came.”

They had taken her from the bakehouse, Ol-Lozen and Daigay, fleeing the city soon after, and had not stopped until the sky was black and alight with stars. The former held his head in one hand, bowl of soup half-full with cold crust in the other, thumb stroking the soft skin beneath his eye. The green skin had begun to redden.

Daigay ladled herself more potato soup from the kettle hanging over their fire. Peas, carrots and onions splashed into her bowl. “An astute observation, and a correct one. We will not be returning home for the foreseeable future. More bread?”

“When?”

Daigay shrugged, tearing a chunk of hard loaf and dunking it into the soup. She propped herself up against the full cart of supplies. “A month. Two months. A year, perhaps. However long forgiving us takes.” She took a large steaming bite from the bread laden with vegetables and caught sight of their distant Orkan. “Not you as well.”

“I defied a lord, Daigay,” he replied, not looking up, scouring his soup for answers to his quandary.

“We both did, if you’ll recall. And now we are here, unharmed, able to enjoy a hot meal under the stars together. And on the morrow we will wake, up, break our fast, and enjoy our first day as fugitives.”

“FUGITIVES?” Mouse cried, startling the donkey behind her who only wanted to rest, ears snapping to attention. Before he started to bray, Daigay reached out to give him calming strokes down his nose. To Mouse she gave a look of severe disapproval.

“Only Ol-Lozen and I will wear that mantle. Although, traveling with fugitives, assisting in their journey – by definition – will name you accessory to our crimes. Which reminds me…” From one of their bags Daigay produced a clear squat jar with holes poked into its silver lid, which she handed to Mouse. Among the foliage and spoonfuls of ochre dirt, a grey assortment of legs scrabbled at the sudden movement. “This is yours.”

Eyes wide as saucers, Mouse quickly unscrewed the top and stuck in her hand, whispering reassurances as the supposedly lazy creature scurried up her arm and made itself a comfortable seat on her shoulder. She tapped the spider’s head with the end of her smallest finger. Eight tiny beads shone back alien appreciation.

“There’s that smile,” Daigay said, delivering swift tousles to the girl’s unkept hair. “I feared events would play out in the manner they had, so I thought it pertinent to carry all we’d need. Rest assured your studies will continue. We have supplies, clothes, blankets, and our health. Lord Larkhen’s torch can eat what remains.” She turned to Ol-Lozen, who was still trying to divine prosperity from his supper. “Don’t look so down. Lord Larkhen will stop pissing the bed eventually. Though, should you see any wanted posters with our faces, do let me know.”

The Orkan’s eyes rolled up and fixed her with a tired glare. Adrenaline had drained his reserves of good humor.

“Not that you’ll find any, not unless we go back. A lord’s influence only extends so far, and soon we’ll be outside the furthest bounds of his jurisdiction.” She said, mopping up the dregs of her soup with her last scrap of bread. “This time entirely.”

“Can we really go back someday?” Mouse asked. Daigay swallowed her food before responding. Against the wooden bowl she tapped her spoon, the sound ticking out like the seconds on a clock.

“Best not.” She laid her empty bowl on the ground. “The king left no other road for us. For him. I tried for a peaceful resolution, but the lord would have taken your demon for that peace, and such arrogance I could not abide.”

“He tried to take your demon?” Mouse said, appalled.

“Your demon, daffodil. Wear your runes proudly. Lord Larkhen will have his day, if not our Ol-Lozen. I will miss that old hole, though. So many good memories.”

Mouse’s eyes drifted towards Ol-Lozen. Then they fell on his sword. “If the king were d–”

“Do not dare finish that statement.”

Daigay’s eyes flared until the whites were visible, and for the briefest moment their fire surged hotter, throwing the lines of her face into deep, intimidating shadow. Kindling fractured like blackened bones. Mouse recoiled from a hail of embers, the sparks parting to avoid her. Ol-Lozen touched his throat, feeling the slightest itch in his collar of runes before it subsided.

“Peace will return to claim its rightful place eventually so long as he remains alive. So long as he lives, he can change. If he dies furious, he remains that way, and all his vitriol towards us remains fixed in stone.” The fire calmed, dimmer than before. “Which is why efforts we shall make to change that.”

“And how do you suppose we change a lord’s mind?” Ol-Lozen rumbled, his voice rough.

“By carrying out the orders intended for you.” Daigay grinned, her mien given nefarious edge by the light of their fire. “Whispers from the crows. A majestic, stagnant beast has come down from the mountains and now threatens the local populations. It is large, nasty, and a challenge for the most experienced fighters. So, I hope you know how to wield that sword, otherwise I’ll have burned the lord’s backside for nothing. Rest well, demon, for on the morrow you slay a wyrm.”